Hell, he probably had a camera in the room they were in as well, for God’s sake.
Ever since the Snake incident, Donovan had been near obsessive about security. And for once, Simon was grateful.
“No, we haven’t contacted the police. I’d like to speak with Margo, please.”
“Fuck this.” Simon scrambled for the door, ran down the hallway, and into the communications room. He crossed to Donovan and tore the phone from his ear.
Donovan whirled on him, his icy eyes flashing rage and surprise. Simon didn’t have enough time to process that. All he knew was he needed to hear Margo’s voice.
“Put my wife on the phone.”
“You’ll speak to your wife soon enough, Mr. Kagan.” The voice was British, but polished with fake gold instead of Donovan’s effortless sheen.
“Now. Not a fucking dime unless I know she’s okay.”
“We both know that’s an empty threat.”
The phone went dead in his hand. He curled his hand around the slim phone until he heard a pop from the seams.
Goddammit.
He stalked to Donovan, who had already moved across the room. “Don’t you ever presume to think you can take care of my affairs. That’s my wife and you’re cutting me out of everything. ‘Put Simon in the little room so he does’t freak the fuck out.’ I’m not some fucking pawn.”
The room was deadly silent save for the odd beep and whir from the machines.
“Let’s discuss this next door.” Donovan’s features were stony, but there was compassion in his gaze.
Simon hated him for being so cool while he was borderline insane.
“What does he want?”
“Money.” Donovan’s expression changed, his eyes narrowing with fury. “He’s an opportunist in every sense of the word. Which is dangerous, because he’s looking at angles instead of sticking to a plan. So, I need you to trust that I won’t let anything happen to Margo. She’s mine as well. I know you think of me as the man in the tower with too much money, but let me be clear. You don’t know me. And I do whatever is necessary to keep me and mine safe.”
Simon swallowed. That was probably the most he’d ever heard Donovan say at one time. He always seemed to come lording in and out of their lives, but for the most part, he trusted them musically. Trusted Lila to keep them on an even keel.
Only lately had things become so incredibly out of control.
“Let’s go next door and I’ll explain what’s happening. I’m sure you’ve seen a lot of things going on in here that you don’t understand.”
Rather than answer, Simon handed Donovan his mangled phone.
Donovan arched his brow at him before slipping it into his pocket. “Come, let’s talk.”
Simon glanced at his brother, still sitting with Zoe. Ian’s fingers were locked together, and eyes so very much like his own were stark with too many emotions for Simon to process.
How could Ian look so much like him? It was like looking into a mirror from five years ago if there’d been no laughter and love in his life. Ian might be twenty-five, but his eyes were so much older.
But he couldn’t feel bad for him because he didn’t have any room for that right now. There was only rage and ice warring inside him.
He turned his back on his brother and followed Donovan into the hall. He couldn’t look at all the people working on his behalf. If he did, he’d fall into the chaos that was swirling beneath his feet. Everything was so beyond his control right now.
“How can you trust him with Margo?”
Simon picked up the pace at Lila’s shrill voice. Christ, all of them were falling apart.
“Shut the door, Simon.”
He did it without complaint only because he wanted to hear what was going on. Slamming the door—or Donovan’s head into the door—would be counterproductive. And he could be a fucking adult.